The S-Mart Saga Part 1: The Night Crew
by Uglycat24
Summary: 25 years after Ash defeated the Army of Darkness, the evil lingers on at S-Mart. Humanity's only hope? The night crew. This is the first in a series of stories I would like to write based on this premise, so I am very interested to hear any and all constructive feedback you have. I do not own the rights to Evil Dead/AOD. All original characters and content are my own.
1. Prelude

In a large enclosed space, silence always seems unnatural. His footfalls are in stereo as he paces through the abandoned aisle. Inhaling and exhaling in a natural rhythm feels too up-close and intrusive, wrinkling the perfect heavy blanket of silence that smothers him from temples to collar bone. It is heavy, unpleasant…and indispensable.

Without the silence, he would not hear the scuffle in front of him at the end of the aisle, just past his line of sight. He would not know to slow his walking down gradually, coming to a casual stop about five feet from the noise's origin so as not to let on that he has heard it. He would not know to pull the blade from his belt in anticipation of confrontation. And he would not know to leap as quickly as possible toward the noise in order to upset the ambush waiting for him next to the canned tuna end cap.

But there is nothing there. Not anymore anyway. He slides his feet along the floor and peers around the corner into the next aisle, his blade still at the ready. Still nothing is revealed to him.

"O'Bannon?" His voice is hoarse and low in an attempt to fly under the ambience. "Is that you?"

No answer.

Somewhere in the distance a door is opened, assaulting the silence with a harried slam against the wall. Rapid footsteps advance. A human voice is calling out in a frantic tone, but the words are distorted by their own echoes.

He snaps his head to face the sound. Eventually the whirl of echoes coalesces into proper English.

"…the rafters! Charlie, run! It's in the rafters!"

He doesn't understand. He doesn't get the chance to. He has only a half second, maybe, to hear and analyze before something dusty and screaming dives through the air and lands on his back, digging its gnarled claws between his shoulder blades and knocking them both to the ground. He howls as his right shinbone snaps from the impact.

He feels himself being forcibly rolled over to face the ceiling. The thing throws one mottled, bony leg on either side of his chest, pinning his arms at his sides with its knees and shoving its face right in front of his. Wrinkled, rotting flesh curls and hangs around yellowing cheekbones and deep-set milky eyes, all framed by clumped black hair. When it sees the look of disgust on his face, it smiles, peeling cracked lips back from brown teeth, lips that split in several places and start to ooze an unsettling green-white substance.

"Don't struggle," the thing rasps, its sour breath sliming its way into his nostrils and tickling the back of his throat. "You're going to like it in here. I promise."

He wriggles and writhes, but the thing's legs are surprisingly strong. The frantic footfalls are closer now, and there are many of them. He can hear someone calling his name. Just a few more seconds before the cavalry shows up. Everything is going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.

He is still thinking that everything is going to be okay when the thing sinks the sharpest parts of itself into him.

When the cavalry does finally arrive, he can barely see them; they are blurry, upside down and in only two dimensions once those brown teeth grind down on his left eyeball.


	2. Morning in Michigan

The sun rises over bland farm country as a rickety old truck bounces down a barely paved road. The truck looks as though it might have been blue once, but it's hard to tell. The majority of the body is either covered in six shades of rust or is flaked away completely.

Inside the car, a young girl leans on her elbow and stares out the open window. The crisp morning air flows through her wispy, dirty blonde hair, most of which, is tied back in an unkempt knot. Around her wrists are thick constrictions of beads and straps. Around her neck is a tarnished black ball chain. She watches the countryside bounce past with disinterest, blinking as the rising sun signals the start of another frosty late-September morning in Michigan.

A sinewy hand grabs a handful of Lori's shirt collar and yanks her back into to he car. Lori gasps in surprise as her left hip and elbow bang against the center console.

"Stop staring out the window like that, Lori. You look like a smack fiend."

Lori rubs her smarting elbow and stares at her feet.

"You would know, Mom." Her attempt at inaudibility is only half-sincere. She can feel those yellow green eyes snap at her from the driver's seat as her mother wheezes a smoker's cough of disapproval.

"Don't get smart with me, kid," her mother rumbles, tapping a bony finger on the Parliament full flavored stick of gravel hanging out the window. "You still need someone to keep your ass in line."

So many things could be said in retort. _And you still need someone to pay for your ass to sit on that couch and do nothing_ is usually the top contender. But what would that get her, other than possibly a smack in the mouth?

Silence ensues for the rest of the drive. As they pass the city limits, Lori's mother flicks her cigarette butt at the pock-marked green sign that simply reads "Lansing," and offers another derisive snort that invites comment. Lori twists her head to look even further out the window.

Not thirty seconds later, the truck pulls into a large, but virtually empty parking lot—with the exception of the two police cruisers and an ambulance stationed around the sliding OUT doors on the left side of the flat and sprawling concrete building.

The flashing lights grab her attention, and Lori sits up straighter, leaning forward to see what she can see. "What the-?"

"Oh, by all means, use the _entire_ pick up lane! Like whatever you're doing is so important. If it's so important then why are you just sitting there?" Her mother's eyes are wild with indignant fury, and Lori decides not to tempt her wrath by pointing out that they can't hear her.

The truck careens through the parking lot with no regard for traffic lanes or parking spaces and halts just short of one cruiser's back bumper. The cop at the caution tape looks at Lori's mother, then at the bumper, then back at Lori's mother with a wagging-finger glance. He turns back towards the more pressing matter of keeping no one away from the restricted area.

Annoyed but unfazed, Lori grabs her tattered army green shoulder bag and slides her slim, scraggly figure down from the tall seat to the ground.

She is barely clear of the door when her mother jams the truck into gear and peels out passed the cops in a cloud of blue-black smoke without so much as a nod of farewell at her daughter. The cop at the caution tape watches her exit the parking lot in a wide left turn and head home, then shifts his gaze to Lori with a mixture of suspicion and pity.

Lori drops her eyes to the ground in an affectively empty stare, shifts her bag higher on her shoulder and slouches toward the automatic IN doors. Maybe she should be embarrassed by her mother's strange behavior…but that would require her to put forth the effort of giving a shit. And today, as with most days, Lori finds herself at a loss.


	3. Welcome to Hell

Walking IN through the IN doors, Lori once again marvels at how much the scene never changes. The place is big enough, and yet it is so stuffed with shelves and racks that are in turn stuffed with so much crap and merchandise that she feels both small and claustrophobic at the same time. Floors shined to a high polish reflect the hollow neon lights above, casting a green glow from both above and below that gives everyone the look of the walking dead. The hum of commerce, the metallic rattle and squeak of a shopping cart, the beep of numbers exchanging hands via plastic and lasers, the low embarrassed murmur of the overly-conscientious consumer debating whether the $3.49 18oz bottle of Lysol dish detergent is really a better deal than the $4.29 20oz bottle of Dawn (the answer of course dependent on whether he is a member of the S-uper S-avers club), all of it is incessant, never-ending, eternal. That's the nice thing about working at a ginormously homogenized consumer hellhole: it is nothing if not consistent.

Until today.

Today, the store is buzzing with nervous energy. Voices are pointed and purposeful. Direct questions are asked and answered. The greeter at the door, a man in his early 60s with a round frame and face that seems to be equal parts Santa Claus and Bilbo Baggins, is so distracted that he does not even see Lori walk past. When he notices her watching him struggle to see around obstacles into the body of the store, he smiles sheepishly.

"Just curious," he chuckles.

Lori offers him a nod and an earnest (if a bit confused) smile in return, and continues on her way.

As she walks through one of the two dozen checkout lanes and into the office supplies aisle, she catches a glimpse of a man—a manager, going by his clothes -speaking with two policemen. Suddenly interested in the state of the staplers, Lori stops to straighten them out, her hands flitting over the Swinglines as her eyes are pinned to the trio of men two aisles over.

The cops are cops—uniformed, diligent and severe, the younger of the two taking notes while the other stands in silence, arms folded across his chest, watching their subject for signs of monkey business. The manager seems concerned, but not scared. His hands are on his hips, his jaw set in a firm line, his thoughtful blue eyes trained comfortably on the young cop asking the questions. Everything about him, from his collared blue shirt to his pressed khakis to his name tag, pinned in the exact center of his right breast pocket announcing "Hi! My Name is Cooper. How Can I Help You Shop Smart Today?" is completely together, a normal part of the scene that never changes. Everything…except for the smear of blood on his right forearm, and the dampness of the short brown hair just around his brow line.

"Did they take anything?" the young cop asks.

"Not that I saw. They did break that window over there, and one of my stockers said he saw some new graffiti on the side of the building. Other than that, they just…well, you know what they did."

"Uh-huh. And you're the one that found him out here?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"About an hour ago. We were stocking the toilet paper, getting ready for the day—toilet paper's on sale 2-for-1 from now until Sunday—and I got a call from the back that there was some problem with a shipping manifest. I'm gone for maybe twenty minutes and when I get back…Charlie's on the floor. Bleeding."

"What do you think happened?"

"Well…he was on a ladder…maybe he fell?"

"And what, landed face first in an open bear trap?"

"Of course not. He could have fallen on a step, maybe got caught on the corner of a shelf…there's a lot of sharp edges in these aisles. That's why we have the Caution: Wet Floor signs for the customers, you know?"

The cops exchange a look, puckering their chins in acquiescence. It seems like they believe him.

"COMING THROUGH! MISS! PLEASE STEP BACK!"

Lori jumps, then presses her back to the shelves as a crew of paramedics surge from the aisle towards the door with their stretcher. As it passes, Lori catches a glimpse of its occupant: a man, maybe in his early 30s, disheveled hair and lolling brown eyes…well, eye. Beneath the oxygen mask and bandages and neck stabilizer, Lori can see that the entire left side of his face is sunken and fractured, as if the skin and flesh and maybe even the eye have been peeled right off his head. His passing torso and legs look lumpy under the pink emergency blanket, perhaps broken or in splints. For a moment, Lori thinks he may be dead.

As the stretcher passes the scene of the interrogation, the man's head rolls towards Cooper, his hand twitching underneath the blanket in some kind of mute gesture. Then the paramedics push him through the sliding doors, and he is gone.

"You're late."

Lori's stomach plummets and adrenaline shoots through her arms. She'd know that voice anywhere. She takes a deep breath and forces herself to turn around to face the severe look of Grace Henry, the front-of-house night manager. With her crisp collared shirt, dark red hair as straight as her painfully stiff posture, and a face as impassive as ice with an attitude to match, you'd never believe that she's been up all night.

"Well?" Grace says, holding her clipboard tight against her chest and tapping a pen on its metallic jaw.

"I…I know. My mom wouldn't wake up and then when she did she couldn't find her keys…"

"This is the third time since you started here."

"I know."

"The third time in three months."

"I…yeah."

"You know that showing up on time is, like…most of this job, right? Anyone can work a cash register. Monkeys, can work a cash register. But we employ human beings because they know how to operate a watch." Grace's right eyebrow arches slightly, the only movement in her expression. "Do YOU know how to operate a watch?"

Lori winces. "Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. It won't happen again, I promise."

Grace nods with a stiff single bob of her head. "Okay then. Go put your stuff away and get out there. Register 4. Luckily with all this…chaos, this morning, people aren't too interested in buying their $5 DVDs and hemorrhoid cream yet, so you caught a break there."

Lori nods, adjusts the strap of her bag up on her shoulder and, eyes down, attempts to circumvent Grace and make a break for the front right corner of the store and the relative safety of the employee break room.

"Hey! One more thing."

Lori's shoulders retract towards her ears, and she turns back.

"Don't be the last out tonight. I know you like to hang out in electronics after your shift is over…but not tonight."

A sudden, unwelcome chill sizzles down Lori's spine, and she shudders. Something in Grace's voice tells her that this is Very Serious.

"Does this have something to do with…what happened to Charlie?"

Grace's eyes take on the look of a blazing swamp. "How do you know about Charlie?"

"I don't! I don't know anything. Just…just what I saw, just now. Why…"

"Forget about it. It's not your problem. All you need to know is when your shift is done, clock out and leave. Don't wait. Okay?"

Lori nods, perhaps a little too vigorously. Grace's eyes slowly return to their normal muddy brown color.

"And put on your smock. As long as you're in the building, you should be dressed like an employee." With that, Grace brushes past Lori, presumably heading back towards the shift manager's station next to the customer service desk.

Lori shudders again in spite of herself, then digs through her shoulder bag for her blue work smock, the apparel of all the underling counter workers. What is it about Grace that makes her so formidable? The posture, the voice, the ominous eyes...it's all of that, and yet that's not it at all.

Lori finishes arranging her smock over her standard black shirt and jeans ensemble, and she is about to turn around and head back to the break room when she finds herself taking one last look at Cooper and the two cops. For the first time since the beginning of the conversation, Lori can see a cloud of worry casting shadows on Cooper's face.

"Is Charlie going to be okay?" he asks the older of the two police officers.

The cop shrugs his shoulders, pulling his chin into his neck like an ambivalent owl. "He's been through a trauma, and he's definitely lost his eye…but they tell me he's going to live. Whatever you did before we got here seemed to help a lot. You got an EMT on your night crew or something?"

Cooper smiles and looks at the ground. "Nah. I think we just got lucky is all."

"Well, thanks for your time, Mr. O'Bannon. "

"Call me Cooper."

"Okay, Cooper. Would you mind if we ask your team a few more questions. Maybe one of them saw something."

"No problem at all. Some of them will be clocking out soon—shift change, you know—but I'm sure they'll want to help you anyway they can. Oh! And if you can't catch everyone, make sure to check with Simon in security. He might be able to show you the footage from when Charlie got hurt."

"Oh…well, that's great. Mind if we start there?"

"Sure. Go to the back of the store, take any door to the stockroom, go all the way to the right wall and then just follow the signs."

Cooper nods as the cops depart, his smile fading as the distance between him and them increases. At long last he drops his chin down to his neck and runs a hand over his eyes from—exhaustion? Or emotion? Lori can't tell.

She watches Cooper walk OUT, her lips pursed and her brow wrinkled. Granted, she's never met Charlie, or Cooper—they are night crew, and stockroom guys from the sound of it. And strictly speaking, there was nothing _wrong_, exactly, with the way Cooper had been acting in his conversation with the police. But as Lori makes her way towards her locker and the start of another day, she can't shake the feeling that something is definitely not right.


	4. Lunch Hour

The morning starts out slow, but after the 9am news runs a report of the dawn break-in and assault, everyone in town comes clamoring through the doors to see where it all went down. And of course, as long as they're here, they might as well get some shopping done. By the time her lunch break rolls around, Lori has only had about five minutes of downtime all morning.

Most of the cashier workers eat at the in-store franchise fast food place, Eat Street, but only for the tables. A 20% "food prep markup" means it is cheaper to buy a sandwich, chips and soda off the shelf than one personal pizza. Lori runs her items through a self-checkout lane, swiping her ID for an employee discount-also not valid at Eat Street, which she never understood since she has yet to see a free-standing Eat Street franchise. She takes a seat in the long booth-bench that also functions as a half-wall partition between the front of the store and the restaurant.

Eat Street is really just a glorified cafeteria with a red and yellow striped awning over the service counter, erected perhaps to be reminiscent of a street vendor or neighborhood deli. Spread out in front of the counter are staggered lines of white tables and red chairs, their flat bases all bolted to the floor to avoid theft or vandalism and thus giving the impression of a very short, very shiny plastic forest.

From her spot at the edge of the restaurant, Lori watches a handful of fellow employees eating their lunches, all of them scattered at separate tables. That is not unusual—when you spend a number of hours forcing yourself to seem excited about a second-grader's new backpack or a blue-haired woman's upcoming weekend at the Wisconsin Dells, the last thing you want to do on your lunch break is pretend to be interested in someone else's lousy marriage or recent sexual escapade.

But, as with everything else she has laid eyes on today, something is off. Not wrong, but not right either. Everyone is too quiet, too pallid, too pensive. It doesn't make sense—everyone on the night shift is long gone home, there's no one left in the building that might have witnessed what happened, with the exception of Lori herself. And yet there is still a weird, necrotic shroud that fills and expands and dulls the space between people with impenetrable stillness, holding everyone captive as they stab aimlessly at their salads, chomp down on iceburg-and-wheat-bread monstrosities, or just stare into the space in front of them, hands absently curled around sweating plastic soda bottles. The feeling is so thick that Lori is afraid to eat her sandwich for fear of ingesting a part of it and becoming sick to her stomach.

"GOOD MORRRRRRRNING LANSING!"

Lori jumps, and the entire population of the petrified table forest seems to shake at the offending sound. She turns to see a thin, acne-scarred face with a mop of curly, greasy black hair smiling a metallic smile at her over the half wall.

"How's your morning going, Lilac?"

Lori's exasperated sigh hides her secret relief. At least SOMETHING is still normal, even if it is Nathan Drexell, the most annoying sixteen year old in Michigan and Lori's sole work friend.

"You know I hate that name."

Nathan's face wrinkles in a hurt-puppy pout. "Aw, I thought you loved my nickname for you. And anyway, I didn't invent it. It's your name already."

"How?"

"Lorelai LaCrue. That's your name right?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Lori. LILAC. Rue. See? Smack in the middle."

Lori wrinkles her nose. "That is stupid."

"Stupid or not, you can't argue with word science." Nathan smiles, and even through her rolling eyes, Lori smiles too. She has to admit, that is pretty clever…and ultimately, it is not the WORST nickname she's ever had.

"So!" Nathan arranges his hands in a kind of sling, holding his chin in mock rapt fascination, "How's your mom?"

"Don't ask. How's this week's family?"

"Seriously don't ask. They have five kids in a two bedroom house. I had to shove an air mattress into the crawlspace over the garage. Crucifixes EVERYWHERE. I give this a month, maybe two. Tops."

"Ugh."

"Yeah."

Nathan hops over the half-wall and slides into the booth next to Lori, the thick gauge chain that loops from his belt to his wallet swinging as he does so, threatening to either catch on something or hit Lori in the face. He is sporting yet another black t-shirt with the name of a band she's never heard of scrawled in some Satanic-looking font. She knows he wears them to piss off his supervisor, and probably the majority of his foster moms as well.

"Hey, did you hear about that thing last night?"

Lori's interest is sparked. "You mean the injured guy?" He nods. "Yeah, they were taking him to the hospital as I was coming in. He was all messed up. I think he might have…like, lost part of his face."

"DAMN! That _is_ messed up." Nathan picks at the crust of Lori's neglected sandwich. "If I were on the night shift, I'd be stocking the shelves with one hand and carrying a Molitov cocktail in the other. Anarchist's Cookbook in my pocket, just in case."

Lori slaps his hand away from her lunch. "You do that now. With the Cookbook I mean, not the Molitov cocktail…I hope."

Nathan chuckles. "You can never be too careful, Li."

Lori is about to respond when a commotion starts up in the checkout area behind them. She twists in her seat to see a woman, mid-40s in a baggy and unflattering floral polyester shirt, keel over near the bagging area of register six. The kid behind the counter looks terrified. His head swivels desperately from side to side, looking for help.

The woman collapses fully on to the floor and begins to tremble and shriek, not just sounds but words—foul, cruel words spewed both at random and in bizarre, aggressive sentences.

"Shit eating whores! Greed…fucking leech pigs! You will watch us eat your insides!"

"Whoa," Nathan stands on his knees to get a better look. Lori scans the aisles to see if help is on its way, but there isn't a manager in sight. In fact, most people are just ignoring the scene, going about their business as usual.

All of a sudden the woman's neck snaps up from the floor so quickly and with such force that Lori swears she hears the crack of bone. The woman trains her eyes directly on Lori. Lori freezes. The eyes—they're white as milk. No color, no pupils—it's as if they have completely rolled back in her head.

"Your eternal rest is in my guts, bitch!"

Lori's mouth goes dry. Her body feels like it is made of lead.

Nathan's jaw is practically resting on his chest. "She's not talking to you, is she?"

The woman utters a gutteral scream followed by what sounds like a death rattle as she falls flat on her back, still. Several people, all employees, converge around her, blocking her from Lori's sight. A moment or two later, the woman is picked up and carried toward the back of the store by a man that Lori recognizes as the cheery front door greeter from this morning. As he rushes past where she and Nathan are sitting, his eyes find hers.

"Nothing to worry about," he announces, presumably to the room. "This woman is having a seizure, she doesn't know what she's saying." His voice is reassuring, but the look he shares with Lori tells a different story. He is worried, and not just about the woman in his arms.

Lori and Nathan watch him dart through the clothing department and disappear at the back of the store. There is a strange feeling in the air, both because of what happened and because a great majority of people do not seem the least bit affected by it. They are still checking out, making purchases, and eating lunch as if nothing had happened.

Lori sighs and sits back down in the booth. The phrase "corporate zombies" has never been more clear in her mind.

"Like I said, you can never be too careful." Nathan pats the back pocket of his jeans. "Let me know if you want to educate yourself, I can lend you some very helpful reading material."

Lori rolls her eyes. "Nice, D-Rex. If they catch you with that you are so fired."

"Aw, you used my awesome nickname! You really do care! " Nathan snuggles his face into her neck, making overly affectionate cooing noises.

"Ugh, get off! It's an obnoxious nickname for when you're being obnoxious." She tries to sound serious, but one look at his goofy smile and she can't help smiling back.

Just as her body begins to relax, her cell phone vibrates in the pocket of her sweatshirt. She checks the caller ID, and immediately her body stiffens again. HOME.

The smile drops from Nathan's face and he sits up straighter. "Don't answer it."

"I have to. Besides, I should start heading back to work anyway. See you later."

Lori gets up before Nathan can protest, leaving her lunch untouched at the table.

"Hello?"

"Don't forget to bring home the carton and the six pack!"

"What?"

"I meant to remind you this morning but I had to leave in such a hurry because of those damn cops everywhere…remember to pick me up a carton and a six pack before you head home."

"Okay. Bye."

"HEY!"

Lori pauses, the phone halfway down her ear, debating whether or not to hang it up.

"Yeah?"

"Say it back to me. What are you bringing home?"

"A carton and a six pack."

"Say it again."

"A carton and a six pack, Mom, I got it."

"That's what you said last week and you forgot. I had to run out in my sleep shorts after drinking a handle of Bullitt. It wasn't safe then, and…let me tell you honey pie, we are WAY past that now. Carl came over with some of his famous brownies, and we are…we are having a goooooood time, let. Me. Tell. You."

"Okay! A carton and a six pack. Anything else? Halls and Tums, perhaps?"

"You know, you're becoming a real smart ass, Lori. I hope to hell you snap out of that soon or you are going to end up just like your father."

_You mean dead? You mean bitter? You mean married to an alcoholic, drug addicted cheater?_ As true as any of those would be, Lori bites her lip until the urge to speak passes.

"A carton and a six pack. I won't forget."

"And don't be late."

"I won't!"

"Good."

Lori hears a tar-coated guffaw in the background as the words "ungrateful bi-" leave her mother's mouth before the call cuts out.

"Love you too, Mom," she mutters, shoving the phone back into her pocket and dragging herself back to her register.


	5. Midnight Falls

After 2pm the activity in the checkout lanes is almost non-existent. Everyone who had run in to do some quick errand or something before work or on their lunch break is now back at his or her desk, leaving nothing for the counter attendants to do but sit, tidy up the snack trays at their register, or hover around the ingress of their aisle with their hands clasped behind their backs and rigid, pleasant looks on their faces, ready to pounce on anyone that seems like they might be interested in making a purchase. Refusing to cave into the expectation of "acting busy," Lori prefers to just stand behind her register and hold on to the hope that, when they wish to exit the store with their items, the customers will figure out where to go.

The rest of the day is a conveyor belt in every sense of the word. Shampoo, dish soap, underwear 3-packs and boxes of hair color all find their way down the lines and over the scanners, each item denoting it's departure with not so much a BEEP but a BLIP! Toothpaste. BLIP! Shaving cream. BLIP! Motor oil BLIP! Condoms. Lori tests her skills in syncopation. BLIP! Snapple. BLIP! BLIP! Candles. BLIP! Snickers. BLIP! BLIP! Whiskas. She challenges herself to see how few words she can exchange with a customer, paring her interactions down to two ("Hi" and "Here") before people start to look at her funny.

BLIP! Fence post. BLIP! BLIP! Mentos. BLIP! Dove bar. BLIP! BLIP! Race cars…

"HEYO!"

Lori's eyes snap open. She's not at her register. She's not even standing up.

"Wha-?"

"Closing time, Lilac. You don't have to go home, but…actually, you're a minor, so you probably do have to go home."

Lori peers up at Nathan's towering figure, illuminated by a single overhead barn light as well as a blue glow from a seemingly infinite row of television monitors all presenting "Jungle Cats of the Serengeti in HD," in HD. She pulls her knees up to her chin and finds they are stiff and tingling, hard to move.

"How long have I been here?"

"All evening, apparently. I saw you around 4:30 watching Mean Girls at the 3D display, and then when I came back at 6 to see if you were still around, I found you were zonked out over here. Looks like you've been asleep ever since." Nathan grabs Lori's flailing arm and helps her to her feet. "Smart idea curling up behind the 60-inchers. It's been pretty dead since 5ish, so it wasn't hard to keep people away."

"You let me sleep all afternoon?"

"What 'let'? Like I said, you were _out. _I thought insomnia was an old-person problem."

"Hahaha…what time is it?"

"Almost midnight."

"WHAT?!"

"What?"

Lori swats at Nathan's shoulder. "Why did you let me sleep so long? I'm not supposed to be here! _We're _not supposed to be here. We're going to get locked in."

Lori digs her bag out from behind the obscenely large TV and makes a break for the exit. Nathan falls into a brisk, surprised trot behind her.

"Whoa! Hold up, what is the big deal?"

Aisle 20, Canned Goods and Boxed Dinners. Lori is losing the fight with her endlessly twisted shoulder strap.

"What is the _exact_ time?"

Aisle 16, Feminine Hygiene and Dental Care. Always a head-scratching combination.

"11:55. And so what? If we do get locked in…I mean the night crew is just in the back for their shift meeting. We can get one of them to open the doors and let us out."

Aisle 12, Hardware. The strap relents and Lori secures her bag firmly across her body, wrestling now with the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

"NO! We can't do that! No one can know we're still here!"

Aisle 11…Tools? Kitchenware? Snacks? Sporting Good? Supplies for the World's Weirdest Party?...Lori never knows what to make of Aisle 11.

"Li, slow down! Does this have something to do with that thing, from this morning?"

"I don't know D-Rex. Probably. I'll explain it better when we're on the bus."

Aisle 9, or the Aisle of Rotation Holiday Crap, currently school and office supplies. She veers to the left. She can see the sliding glass doors at the end of the aisle. Her heart leaps at the prospect of avoiding Grace's wrath, to say nothing of what her mother is going to do to her when she gets home…

_A carton and a six pack._

Lori screeches to a halt, stopping just inside of the motion sensors for the OUT door. The doors open, and close, and open again. Lori mentally checks the form and shape of her backpack. It's too light, and too floppy to be housing a carton of cigarettes. And she definitely doesn't remember asking any of the over-the-hill, run-out-the-clock, who-gives-a-shit counter workers to meet her outside with a six pack. Even if she had, they were long gone by now.

The doors open again, beckoning with an ominous whisper: _Game over. Come outside. Your mother is going to kill you._

Nathan lumbers to a stop next to Lori, slightly doubled-over and out of breath, one hand holding up the back of his chain-laden baggy black jeans and the other hand on his knee as he gasps for air.

"Thank you…I almost died back there…now…let's go wait for the bus…the sweet, sweet bus…with chairs and…sitting..."

Lori steps outside the invisible circle, and the doors close one last time. She looks over the rows of unmanned and unnaturally still cash registers to the digital clock behind the customer service desk. 11:57.

"We can't leave yet."

"Oh come on…" Nathan wheezes. His face, normally so pale around his acne flareups, is now a feverish and angry red all over. "You know how much I hate exercise. Can't we just-?"

But Lori is already gone, her bag jostling against her small frame as she bolts to Aisle 8 which is, from the looks of it, the Assorted Vices aisle. It is something of an inside joke in fact—Lori can't even count the number of times she's heard a coworker respond to inquiries about weekend plans with "I've got a hot date with Aisle 8."

On the left side of Aisle 8 is a long tall cooler stocked with endless brands of bottled and canned alcoholic beverages. The right side shelves are lined top to bottom with wine and spirits. At each end cap is a condom and personal lubricant display (also available in Aisle 2), and at the very end of the aisle near the back of the store is a cabinet full of cigarette cartons, locked and bolted but very easy to break in to if you have a paperclip on hand…which Lori almost always does.

As she jams the small bit of metal into the scratched lock, she hears the heavy, squeaking stomps of Nathan's sneakers coming down the aisle.

"Can you grab me a sixer of PBR?" Lori does not look up as she stabs at the microcosm of darkness in her hands.

"Are you serious?"

"It's not for me. My mom…she thinks she's twenty, or hip or something."

"Alright, fine." Nathan scans the coolers behind them, walking several yards away in his search. Lori watches him out of the corner of her eye, just to make sure he stays on task.

"They only have 12 and 24, unless you want tall boys!"

Lori growls through her teeth in irritation, but is pacified a moment later when the lock pops open in her hand.

"Tall boys!" she calls back to Nathan, throwing the cabinet doors wide, snatching a carton of Camel Blues and shoving them in her bag with her left hand as she reconfigures the lock with her right.

"Got 'em!" Nathan proudly displays his find as Lori runs to meet him halfway down the aisle. Almost in response, a loud emergency tone begins blaring through the mostly empty building. Lori's ears recoil at the volume. She's heard it before, but from outside the building, waiting for the last bus pickup on all the nights she has stayed away from home until the last possible second. It is the all-out warning. In 30 seconds, the place will be locked and bolted for the night.

"Let's go!"

"Ughh….hey, how are you planning to pay for this?" Nathan's question comes out as more of a belabored groan as they take off running again.

Lori has not thought that far ahead. Can she just run out and deal with the consequences in the morning? Is it really stealing, or just borrowing on credit? She is going to be back first thing in the morning, and she will bring money…but then again, she is also a minor...but then again again, she isn't stealing…no, BORROWING them for herself…

Lori has almost convinced herself that this would not in fact be stealing by the time she and Nathan burst forth from Aisle 8 and make a mad dash toward the front doors. As Lori's front foot passes through the semi-circle of space where the automatic open functions, the siren cuts out. In the lingering echo, Lori spots the customer service clock.

12:00.

Her heart drops into her stomach just as her body slams into the glass. The doors shutter in their tracks but do not break or give an inch. Her forearms and head spark with pain from the impact, but she still slams her hands against the door in frustration a few times, just in case that argument might convince it to open.

Panting, sweaty and defeated, Lori slumps back against the immoveable doors. Several feet away, Nathan is practically draped over a magazine rack, face now the color of raw blood as he gulps in air.

"You saw the clock, didn't you?" she sighs.

"Yeah, well…I wasn't running that fast."

"And you didn't think to tell _me_ before I smashed my head into the door?"

"I'm sorry! My brain is not getting enough oxygen. All I could think is that it meant I could stop running."

"Yeah, well, thank God you're such a light weight. If you were in any better shape you would have slammed into the door. And me. With a six pack of beer in your arms."

"Um…you're welcome?"

"Yeah."

Silence ensues as they both catch their breath, the deep and hollow silence of a large space with no one in it. At long last, Nathan peels himself off the magazine rack and stumbles over to Lori.

"Is your mom gonna be mad?"

Lori shrugs and tries to play it off. "Eh, my mom probably hasn't even noticed I'm gone."

Nathan looks at the ground and nods. He knows she's lying, but he doesn't apply any pressure or offer any condolence. He doesn't need to. Instead, he changes the subject.

"Did you see any managers around?"

"No. They're all in the shift meeting I'm sure. Don't know why though—they close the registers at 11, everyone is basically gone by 11:15…usually. What could they possible have to talk about?"

"Probably planning the complete and total destruction of the entire human race."

Nathan grins and arches one of his eyebrows, giving her that look that can always make her smile no matter how bad things are. This time is no exception—she is even giddy enough from adrenalin to giggle a little.

"So!" Nathan bounces his fist against the door and leans forward to stand, making a full recovery from his recent over-exertion. "I guess we should probably go find them huh?"

Lori nods. "Guess we probably should."

Neither of them move. Nathan looks at her.

"Go."

Lori shakes her head. "You go!"

They both start giggling, and Nathan rolls his eyes in over-exaggerated annoyance.

"Come on, you juvenile delinquent, let's move!" He swings an arm around her shoulders and half-drags, half-shepards her away from the door, heading in the general direction of the customer service desk.

"Hey, lemme go! I am not a delinquent!" Lori pretends to punch him in the ribs.

"Stealing beer and cigarettes, Ms. LaCrue? Oh, it'll be hard time for you, mark my words!"

"Others will follow! My revolution will live on! Beer and cigarettes forever!"

"Tell it to the judge."

"I will."

They are just passing the customer service desk when a deep and sudden _BOOM-crack!_ echoes throughout the building, shaking it to the cement-and-steel foundations. Lori can't control the yelp that escapes her mouth, as much due to the noise as the sudden thick and fathomless black that now billows around her like a cloak.


	6. The Hammer

"What happened!?" Lori pulls away from Nathan and stands up straight.

"Well I cant't say for sure, but I think the lights went out." There isn't one iota of uncertainty in Nathan's smirking tone.

"Ugh, yes, thank you. But why?"

Another loud metallic _thud!_ reverberates around them and they are bathed in a greenish and wavering pool of light from above.

"Ah!" Nathan says. "There. They probably just turn off the main lights overnight to save money."

Nathan tries to take a step forward, but Lori grabs the back of his T-shirt.

"Wait!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Look." Lori nods toward the body of the store. "It's not because the store is closed. This light came on…but just this one."

Nathan follows her gaze. Sure enough—nothing. No emergency lights, no exit signs. Just what appears to be a solid wall of black.

_Chk-chk-chk-chk-chk._

Lori and Nathan both jump. Somewhere out in the dark, a metallic skittering breaks the stillness.

"What the hell was that?"

_Chk-chk-chk-chk-chk. _It comes in fits of pause-_chk-chk-chk-chk-chk-_pause, and for every fit and pause the noise gets louder. Closer.

"Nathan…something's out there." Lori hasn't let go of his t-shirt, and she now steps more directly behind him as he puts out an arm, shielding her from the invisible but clearly advancing threat.

_Chk-chk-chk._ The closer it gets, the more unmistakable the direction. Lori finds her eyes being subconsciously drawn ever more upward.

"Oh God…it's…it's…"

"Right on top of us."

A skin-shriveling screech pierces the tense air, as if Nathan's observation had pierced a wild animal with a burning arrow. A moment later comes a _whoosh!_ of air followed by a gut-wrenching _THUD!_ of flesh and bone as a body drops from the nothingness above and lands quite ungracefully behind them near the edge of the light.

Lori and Nathan both cry out in surprise, clutching arms like scared children or cowardly cartoon dogs. Their cries echo, repeating over and over and eventually dying into a complete and sickening silence.

The body, face down and unnerving in its stillness, is cloaked in a shapeless brown dress (or tunic?), unspecific to any gender but clearly covering a pile of arms and legs twisted into the most unnatural angles. A wide cloud of frizzy brown hair obscures the face.

No one—not Lori, not Nathan, and certainly not the broken body on the floor—no one moves for what feels like a long time. There is an almost claustrophobic thumping in Lori's ears, so loud and close that she can barely make out the sound of her own panicked breathing. She wants to speak, to scream, to say anything, but she can only stand helpless and mute under the crushing weight of fear.

"Holy crap."

Lori rolls her eyes and the spell is broken.

"Nice, D-rex."

"Sorry, I know that is a stupid thing to say, but…I mean, _shit_! Who is that?"

"I can't tell."

"Should we…check for a pulse or something?"

"Yeah…yeah we probably should."

Neither of them move. Lori pushes at Nathan with her elbow.

"Go."

"You go."

"I went last time."

"What last time? Last time a body fell out of the sky?"

"Just do it. After all, you're the man…kinda.""

"That's sexist. And insulting."

"Look, it fell out of the freaking ceiling. It's obviously dead. You just have to check and make sure so we can tell the cops that we checked. What are you so afraid of?"

"…Asbestos?"

"Oh my God…fine, I'll do it."

"Well if you insist."

Shaking her head, Lori extracts her arms from Nathan's Scooby-Doo embrace and approaches the morbidly still body on the floor. Each step feels like it weighs fifty pounds and lasts about a year. She stoops toward the body, and extends her hand towards the far shoulder to roll it over. Then she freezes.

Is it her imagination, or does she hear…growling?

Her hand snaps back into her chest and she stumbles away. Stings of adrenaline rush down her arms as she finds the air knocked out of her yet again. That thing is still breathing…isn't it? How? Though the questions linger in her mind, she's not interested in further research.

"Actually Nathan, maybe we should just forget this whole pulse thing and go right to calling the cops. I mean, there's no way it's—"

Turning around, Lori's jaw goes slack and the ability to speak completely escapes her.

Standing behind a concerned Nathan is the tallest and most hideous creature Lori has ever seen in her life so far. It towers at least eight feet over Nathan's five-ten, and is as wide as a small sedan. It's flesh is a mottled mass of brownish lumps, like a child has molded it out several different colors of clay. It's arms sag from burly shoulders, its knuckles almost dragging on the ground. A chunky sphere-like lump on the top of the thing's broad torso droops toward the unsuspecting boy below as if it is watching him, but Lori sees no eyes. Indeed, the nightmare in front of her has no face at all.

Somehow it must sense it has been detected though, because as Lori's eyes pass over it's presumed head, it seizes Nathan, wrapping its massive arms around his chest and waist.

"Nathan!" Lori screams.

Nathan's only response is a strangled cough and bulging eyes as the thing begins to squeeze the air out of his body.

Lori scans the area for…something…anything! Anything if it might help! A stapler. Scissors. Three-hole punch. None of that seems like it will be of much help.

The monster groans as its body draws into itself, like a snake recoiling before an attack. Then there is a sound unlike anything Lori has ever heard before—like what an eyeball being pulled slowly out of its socket must sound like—as the monster's lumpy head splits open in a jagged slit, pulling the top half almost completely back to hang over the nape of its bulbous neck. Inside is a pulsing crimson chasm lined with a dozen rows of needle-like teeth.

Nathan's eyes bulge even wider as the gaping maw inches closer and closer to his face. He flails his arms, twisting his mouth and gasping silently at the air. His gaze finds Lori. She can see the tears of pain and terror start to flow from the corner of his eyes. With his arms pinned at his sides, his hands and fingers work frantically, pointing in her direction. Reaching out for her. But there is nothing she can do.

"This can't be real."

She can feel the tears sting the back of her eyes. Is she really about to watch Nathan die?

SPLAT!

The noise feels louder than thunder. Nathan falls to the ground, gasping for breath, the left side of his head suddenly coated in a thick paste of blood and flesh. At first, Lori is certain that he has been killed, that the thing has completed its task (whatever that was), and would now be coming for her. But when the grotesque mass of evil falls to its knees next to Nathan with what appears to be a red and black rotten pumpkin where its pointy mouth once was, Lori realizes that the current threat has actually passed. Or rather, it has been eliminated.

Lori rushes to Nathan, propping up his slimy, disgusting head in her lap. He is coughing and his lips are edged with blue, but he is breathing. He seems to be…mostly…okay.

"Lori, Lori, Lori."

Somewhere in the dark, beyond the massive corpse, a familiar voice mutters her name. Familiar, and in a certain way, even more terrifying than the monster.

Lori looks up to see her night manager, Grace. One of her feet is propped up on the monster's back, her opposite arm bracing her weight against the handle of a mighty sledgehammer, the business end of which is currently pressing the last of the juices out of the misshapen skull as if it were an overripe apple. Her blue work shirt, normally pressed and starched half to death, now hangs open over a white tank top, sleeves rolled up past her elbows and a pair of leathery tan workman's gloves covering her hands. Her usual management khakis have been swapped out for black skinny jeans and heavy soled black leather boots. Her hair is tied back in a high ponytail, but otherwise looks as smooth and straight as ever. She has what appears to be a miner's headlamp strapped to her forehead that shoots a strong white beam just over Lori's head as Grace regards Lori with a look that somehow, despite the circumstances, is still that patented Grace blend of calm and slightly annoyed.

Lori almost laughs. It's just so nice to know that some things don't change.

"Lori, what did I say?"

Lori looks down. "I know.""

"Because I distinctly remember saying…"

"I know."

"And yet…"

"I know. Look," Lori starts dragging the disoriented Nathan to his feet. "It's a long story, but basically I fell asleep, and then there was this…stuff, I had to get for my mom.""

"Our beer section is organized terribly!" Nathan bursts from out of nowhere. "It took me forever to find this!" Lori isn't sure how Nathan managed to keep hold of the six-pack up to now, but sure enough the PBR tall boys are all still dangling from the plastic connective tissue entwined in his fingers.

Grace raises her eyebrows. "Yeah…and we are definitely going to have a talk about THAT later."

"Grace, what IS that thing?" Lori nods at the pile of flesh oozing fluids at Grace's feet.

Grace looks down, a scowl clouding her already tumultuous eyes. "A Leech with legs."

"What?"

"I don't know if they have a proper name or anything, but we just call 'em Leeches. They build them out of dirt and shit and whatever they can find. The bigger the better. Then they animate 'em, and they make 'em bat cleanup."

"Who builds them?"

"Don't know exactly. But these assholes are dumb as dirt—not that surprising really. So they always follow a Banshee. Kind of like a lion and it's tamer. The Leech goes for the blitz attack like this while the Banshee creates a distraction. Lately their favorite trick is to dive bomb from the ceiling and then play dead. Someone goes to investigate and then…boo."

A cold prickly feeling shoots down Lori's spine. "Did you say…play dead?"

Right on cue, the previously limp body behind them snaps to it's feet with a scream that makes Lori's blood squirm in her veins. The face seems female, but incredibly old. Almost rotten. The yellow-green skin sags off the bones. Her eyes are buried in her skull, with yellow with pupils constricted into black pinpoints. Her open mouth is full of misshapen and jagged brown teeth that appear to be coated and lined with blood.

Lori inhales sharply and clutches to Nathan, who shudders but is still too weak to even raise his arms in retaliation.

Grace reaches down to grasp the neck of her hammer, the other hand anchoring it near the end of the handle as she rears back and prepares to swing.

"Duck!" she yells, and Lori complies, pulling Nathan down with her. But before Grace can complete her attack, the screeching face explodes into wet, red confetti, spraying all of them in a fine red mist.

When the remainder of the hag's body falls to the floor, Lori spots a figure standing near the main doors, silhouetted by the parking lot lights slicing through the glass entryway. In his extended arm is some kind of shotgun, sleek and square with a round magazine hanging below the stock. He lowers the weapon to his side as he approaches the three of them, and slowly Lori is able to make out his attire-another standard issue company work shirt and khaki pants—and his face…

She knows him. Or at least she's seen him once before. And not ten feet from where he is now standing.

"Dammit Cooper! A little warning next time would be nice!" Grace wipes her face with the bottom of her tank top, leaving a big red smear across her stomach.

"Oh, my mistake. Next time I will be sure to ask permission before I save your ass. Though the bitch will probably be chewing your face off already so…"

"Shut up," Grace steps over the body and blood towards Cooper. "Where the hell have you been? It was 'ten more minutes' over an hour ago."

"I said about ten minutes. You never really know with leaky faucets."

"Since when are you a plumber?"

"Since I got married. Now I'm a plumber, electrician, carpenter, garbage man…"

"You should join a union."

"Ha ha ha. Hey, I came back didn't I? I had Specs unlock the trap door so we didn't even have to suspend security. And look—" Cooper removes a small flat object wrapped in white wax paper from the leather messenger bag slung across his body. "Allie made me bring this for you. To say thanks."

Grace takes the package, eyeing it with suspicion.

"It's a cookie. She baked two dozen specifically so I could give you one."

"Is it chocolate chip?"

"Peanut butter."

"Eh."

"But she did put chocolate drizzle on it."

"Oh! Well…that's good enough I guess."

"HEY!"

Grace and Cooper both turn to look at Nathan and Lori: disheveled, blood-spattered, sneakers soaking in blood and ankle-deep in body parts, Nathan's one arm sagging from the weight of the beer and the other slung over Lori's shoulder.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS SHIT?!" he screams, flailing the beer around in a wide circle

Cooper looks confused. "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" An incredulous Nathan swings his arm off of Lori and takes a few shuffling steps in Cooper's direction. "WHO AM I? I am goddamn stockroom swing shift, that is who am I. And I demand an answer to my damn question!"

Still confused and a bit concerned, Cooper turns to Grace, who looks back at him with a look of exhaustion, exasperation…and, Lori thinks, just a hint of worry.

But before either of them can address Nathan's demands, an all-too-familiar skittering sound is heard, faint but definitely present and in the general vicinity of the restaurant on the other side of the entryway.

"Let's go!" Grace pushes all of them in the opposite direction, the bouncing white beam of her headlamp the only light in the otherwise complete darkness.


	7. Showdown in Aisle 11

"Get them to the basement!" Cooper yells over the increasing noise. Lori can't tell if the high volume is because of increased proximity or number of creatures. She hopes like hell its not both.

"What? Screw that, we need to get them out of here or they are going to get themselves killed! Simon can open the trap door just long enough for them to get away."

There is another stomach turning scream behind them, and Lori hears Grace grunt, followed by a dense thud and after a moment a series of _ratatata_ and _boom-boom-boom-boom_. Lori just keeps running.

"Aisle 11!" she hears Cooper yell, and Lori feels something pull at the back of her shirt. She shrieks—who is that?—as Grace grabs hold of both her and Nathan and almost tosses them into the aisle to their left. They both roll to the floor, and Lori scrambles to get her back against the shelves of motley crap. Grace, her hammer holstered for the moment in a makeshift harness on her back, starts grabbing boxes while Cooper flicks on a small penlight and kneels in front of a large combination safe, spinning the wheel rapidly through the series of numbers.

"We already used the trap door once tonight. Guaranteed they're looking for it now. We can't risk a breach." The safe pops open, and Cooper tears around the packing cardboard to pull out a large drum magazine that he slams onto the bottom of his gun. He pulls back the cocking mechanism and looks down at Lori and Nathan, who has now joined Lori against the shelves. "Sorry guys, but I think you're in for the night."

"Fine!" Grace says, ripping the lid off of a bottle of Drano without bothering to squeeze and turn. "But if they die, they will only have you to blame!"

"You're not gonna let that go are you?"

"Nope!"

Grace kneels down in front of Lori and Nathan, her eyes burning brown and, as much as it shocks her, Lori can see beads of sweat gathering at Grace's temples.

"Stay low, and don't move unless we tell you. Got it?"

Lori nods. Grace steps in closer and lowers her voice. Lori recognizes this voice. This is Grace's Very Serious Voice.

"And when we tell you to go…you run like hell."

They nod again. Grace begins to stand, but pauses as she passes Lori.

"And you…you watch out for him." Grace looks to Nathan, who looks at once both terrified and thoughtful. "You have no idea what he's been through already."

Lori tilts her head. Somehow this feels like more than just a precaution. This feels like Grace is…imparting wisdom. A lesson learned the hard way. But why?

"I promise." Lori whispers.

There is another round of bellowing quick action blasts as Cooper opens fire against a Banshee. Lori can see the lurching silhouette of another bulky Leech looming in the distance. Grace turns and hurls the Drano bottle at the bulky monster, who gives a gurgly howl as its faceless head melts into a reddish brown mass of goo. She unsheathes her hammer and races past Cooper into the melee, running into a leap and sinking her hammer deep into the now free flowing head.

Lori digs through her bag and pulls out her key ring, complete with a surprisingly effective keychain flashlight. Once her eyes adjust to the dim illumination, Lori takes a look around Aisle 11 with new eyes. Nail guns. Saws and axes. Butcher blocks full of knives big and small. Baseball bats and golf clubs. Pliable sheets of metal that could be used for armor. An array of (highly flammable) aerosols like oven cleaners, bug sprays and adhesives. Packs of Bic lighters. Fire extinguishers. Duct tape of every color. Advil. Band aids. Power Bars. Bottled water.

"Suddenly this aisle makes a lot more sense." Lori says to Nathan, but when she turns to look at him she sees his attention is pinned to the battle at the end of the aisle.

"Lori…I have an idea. I think there's something we can do. Can you get me some stuff?"

Lori watches Grace hold off the grasping claws of a Banshee by grasping the long staff of her hammer with two hands in front of her like a brace. Cooper fires several rounds through the reverse-pin-cushion mouth of a Leech. She turns back to Nathan.

"What do you need?"

Nathan rattles off a list, and Lori does some shopping. Dish detergent. A screwdriver. Rubber dish gloves. A few other odds and ends.

"Now…hand me a beer."

She complies. Nathan's hands are nimble even inside the cumbersome gloves, and he begins to assemble his creation as Lori watches, holding the flashlight and attempting to take mental notes whenever he slows down enough for her to understand what he is doing.

"That gun of Cooper's," Nathan says as he pours strong smelling green liquid through the puncture hole he has made in the side of a beer can. "Do you think that's an actual AA-12?"

"A what?"

"It's an automatic shotgun. That's military grade weaponry. But where the hell would he have gotten it?"

"How do you know that?"

Nathan seals the puncture hole with duct tape. "How do you think I know any of this stuff?"

Lori nods. They've been over all that before, and anyway it's not really relevant right now. She refocuses on the task at hand.

"Is it ready?"

"Almost…" Nathan shakes the can and it begins to foam around the duct tape. "Done!" He passes it to Lori. "Toss it between them. You have the best aim."

Lori is surprised to find herself blushing at the compliment. "Okay."

She stands up, shaking the can herself a couple times for good measure. She winds up and lets it fly.

"INCOMING!" Nathan yells as the can soars through the air, trailing a soapy golden arc behind it. It lands right at the feet of the Banshee bearing down on Grace when it explodes in an impressive burst of white foam.

"Dammit—what the hell was that?! Ugh, it's in my mouth!" Grace screams, wiping soap and beer off her chin. "When I said don't move, I meant—"

"Grace!" Cooper's shout grabs her attention and she turns back to see the last of their enemies writhing on the ground, with only pools of flesh-colored goop where their feet and shins were.

Grace and Cooper look at each other, then back at Nathan and Lori. Nathan looks proud and relieved, while Lori looks absolutely elated at the success of their plan.

"I figured…if they don't like Drano, then they wouldn't like…that."

Cooper looks back at Grace, who shrugs in reluctant approval. Turning to their now prostrate foes, each deliver their coup de gras, Grace with her hammer and Cooper with a single blast. Both leave only a large smear of monster-shaped gore on the white linoleum floor.

No sooner had they finished dispatching the current foes when a large, rapid thumping begins in the front corner of the store.

"Son of a bitch," Cooper mutters, ripping the empty magazine from his gun and plunging his hand into the safe for a reload and a couple spares that he shoves into his messenger bag.

"Basement time! Go!" Grace runs at Nathan and Lori, who don't have to be told twice. "Cooper, let's move!"

"Right behind you!" Lori hears the safe slam close and the tumblers spin, followed by Cooper's footfalls sprinting to catch up with them.

"Where the hell is the portal?" Cooper yells up to Grace as they race toward the back of the store.

"Last I heard Simon was zeroing in on it in the first quadrant. Over by women's clothing."

"That's the fourth time in six weeks! They must really like the new fall colors."

"Oh my God, you're an idiot."

"I'm the idiot? Why didn't you close the damn thing?"

"I was going to! That's when I saw this guy about to become a human juice box!"

Lori can't see Grace's pointed glare at the back of Nathan's head, but she knows it's there.

"It's unstable anyway, it will collapse on its own soon. We just have to wait…and deal with the ones that make it through!""

The thumping gets louder and louder as they clear the aisles and head toward the closest door to the back room. Above them in a large round security mirror, Lori can see three more Leeches, hulking several feet taller than the shelves and dragging themselves through the aisles, moving like giant ships through oddly parallel rivers.

And beyond that, near the front of the store, is what appears to be a smear of purple thunderstorm clouds, lit from behind by a jet black sun. Pulsing and swirling, it hangs like a wet towel in the midair, convulsing like a newborn baby taking its first screaming breaths. It contracts, then expands, and Lori watches in horror as a long, lumpy leg of a Leech begins to protrude from the center of the hellish door.

"The portal!" Lori cries. Grace and Cooper follow her gaze to the security mirror. The portal begins to spasm erratically, stretching itself into a gaping, stuttering yawn before it snaps back down into nothing, splitting the half-emerged Leech in two as it disappears.

"Thank God!" Grace sighs, increasing her pace with renewed vigor. "It's all over now…"

"…except for the screaming!" Cooper quips as he jets past his compatriots to the closest stockroom door, where he leans down to scan his name tag at the security lock. There is a buzz and he slams the door open, bracing it with his arm and leg as Lori, Nathan and Grace all rush past him. Once they are clear he follows suit, closing the door behind them. On the other side of the door is a large metal wheel that Cooper turns with great effort. Three metal braces extend across the door, their picketed ends puncturing the concrete edge of the opposite wall as far as Cooper's arm strength will let them.


	8. Hail to the King

"This way!" Grace takes the lead while Nathan and Lori follow her along the wall of the seemingly limitless and monotone stockroom toward the back office. It is a dingy room, its walls lined with small lockers the color of dried phlegm. The only furniture is a metal desk covered with a layer of papers and an ancient office chair that looks like it would be hell on your back. There are no windows or doors to the outside. With the exception of the row of windows looking into the rest of the stockroom, it is a low-ceilinged concrete box.

Between the desk and the lockers is a wooden door with a square window, reinforced with thin wires inlaid in cross-hatched formation, like the doors of the high school classrooms Lori remembers from…about a million years ago, it seems.

Grace rips a keyring out of the front pocket of her jeans and inserts a key into the deadbolt. Lori has seen Grace's work keyring before—a crowded but austere jumble of keys, and keys alone. This ring is not that ring. This ring has two keys, and one key chain, which Lori will later discover is plastic and similar to a snow-globe except that it is flat, the back of which reads "Jesus is my designated driver. Branson MO." Floating inside is gold glitter, and tiny gold plastic crucifixes and martini glasses. It's not a trinket Lori believes would be Grace's style. And it's not. Later on, Lori will also find out that it was a gift, the significance of the giver being the only reason Grace did not immediately toss it in the trash.

"There's too many of 'em! That door isn't gonna hold!" Cooper bursts into the office as a loud crash several yards away makes his announcement redundant.

"Downstairs! Go!" Grace yanks Nathan's arm, tossing him into the darkness beyond the door. Lori dives past Grace, following Nathan into the basement.

The stairs are narrow, very steep, and empty into a long and narrow hall penned in on all sides by grey cement. It's dim, lit only by a few bulbs ensconced in the walls. It smells like dirt and standing water. Through the murky light, Lori can just barely see the outline of a dark door at the end of the hallway. A strange shimmer of blue light spills out from the crack at the bottom..

"_The safe room! Get to the safe room!"_

It was all so strange, so surreal, so…alien. Is she still even in the store, the place she has come to day after day for three months? The place that up until today has seemed so mundane, even bland? And now this…how could she have missed all this?

"Move it or lose it Lilac!" Nathan grabs her hand and begins dragging her down the remainder of the stairs. "And I don't mean that metaphorically either!"

Behind and above them a loud growl emanates from the space just outside the door, followed by what sounds to Lori like a baby sucking on a bottle only a hundred times more drooly and wet. She doesn't want to think about the creature making that noise, or what it must be doing now. She clamps her hand around Nathan's and forces her sore, aching legs to make one last effort. A few dozen feet to save her life.

Down the stairs, into the hall, past one two three four bulbs the door growing bigger with every step. Almost there…

There is the repeating crack of Cooper's shotgun, and she hears footsteps pounding down the concrete behind her. Two sets…wait. No. Only one.

Lori turns to see Cooper, his face bloody except where rivers of sweat have cleared away the gore. She strains her neck to peer around him, to see Grace.

But there is no Grace.

Lori grinds to an unconscious halt, so sudden that Cooper has to barrel his shoulder into the wall to avoid running into her. Nathan tugs at her immobile hand. "Lilac, let's go! We're practically there!"

"Grace?"

At the end of the hall, Lori sees her: pale, tall, thin, her back to them, her arms raising her hammer above her head as a gargantuan mound of evil flesh claws at her leg, it's skull almost ripping itself in half as it opens wide and prepares to sink all seventy million of its pointy teeth into her. She brings the hammerhead down into its face with a mighty thud.

The thing screams. And so does Grace. Clutching her right shoulder, she drops her weapon and falls to her knees, apparently blinded to the threat still very much alive and just inches away from her injured body.

"Gracie!" Cooper's voice is higher and almost fanatical. He fumbles with the shotgun magazine, struggling to reload the weapon with shaking hands.

"Cooper, do something!" Lori wails. "It's gonna kill her!"

As the thing arches above the helpless Grace for another attack, Lori hears a faint click, followed by a soft breeze as the door opens behind them.

"Everybody limbo!"

Cooper falls to the floor without hesitation, and Lori finds herself doing the same. She covers her ears instinctually, if not telepathically, as a rocketing boom threatens to cave in the slight hall and causes the monster towering over Grace to explode into a hellish firework.

The sound of the shotgun blast takes almost forever to fade. When it finally does, Lori peeks her head out from under her arms to see the person standing in the doorway that Grace, and probably all of them, owe their lives to.

He's nobody Lori has ever seen before, and yet there is something about that arrogant smirk that seems very familiar. He's older but still good-looking, his black hair dusted with gray and a serious five'o'clock shadow. As he lowers the smoking Remington double-barrel shotgun, Lori notices a glint of metal in his right hand…no, not in it. Over it. It looks like he's wearing a metal glove. He's outfitted in the standard work uniform—blue collared shirt and dress pants-and Lori sees that he is even wearing a name tag like the rest of them.

Welcome to S-Mart.

Ash.

General Manager.

"Well well well…you guys really screwed up this time." Lori can't tell if he is angry, amused, or just taking pleasure in being kind of a jerk. She looks to Cooper, who sighs, seeming to neither agree or disagree with Ash's statement. Down the hall Grace, covered in monster guts and holding her limp right arm to her stomach with her left arm like a sling, is slowly dragging herself to her feet.

"The portal's collapsed, no thanks to either of you." He slouches against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his shotgun as he watches Cooper, Nathan and Lori pick themselves up from their various states of dishevelment. "Meanwhile I've got pureed hellbeasts all over Aisles 11, 12 and 13. It's a damn Jamba Juice out there and wouldn't you know it, our cleaning crew is in the hospital and short half a face."

His brown eyes fall on Lori for the first time, and they narrow—not in anger or annoyance that she can tell, but curiosity. "And to top it all off…I have these two little goofballs to deal with."

Cooper runs his hand through the hair on the back of his head, nodding sheepishly. Grace has come up behind them now, her hammer scraping a deep grating groove down the length of the hall.

Ash's eyes move over to Nathan, where he spots the six—or rather, five-pack in Nathan's grubby hands.

"Well helllooo there! I'll take that, thank you." Nathan barely reacts as Ash grabs the beer from his arms. Cracking one open, Ash gulps down half the can in half a second. "Ah! Good stuff." Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Ash looks from Nathan to Lori, smiling and nodding thoughtfully. "I like the way you two think. Yeah…this might just work out after all."

Grace's ears perk up.

"Work out? Work out what?"

"They saw everything, Henry. They know what`s going on, more or less." He jabs the beer can towards Nathan. "This one knows combustibles. And the other one brought beer! They're geniuses. We'd be crazy not to bring 'em onto the team."

"They're children, sir. And I'm pretty sure they were going to steal that beer."

"Ah, so what?

"I'm pretty sure that's a crime sir."

"Hey, what you call a felony I call vision."

Grace smiles that amused, annoyed smile again. "I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree."

Lori is stunned to see Ash return a perfect mirror of her expression. "Say Gracie, be a peach and go close the door would ya?"

Grace's smile drops from her face. Her eyes narrow in full-on irritation, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she flings the arm of her hammer against the wall, presumably in preparation for her long walk back down the hall.

Ash turns back to the rest of the team. "Alright now! We've got a lot of work to do with you kids. If you think you've seen something now…brother, you don't even know the half of it."

With that, Ash retreats into the safe room, knocking back the remainder of his beer as he goes.

Cooper smiles, almost apologetically, and extends his arms like he is herding children to bed. "Okay, you heard the man. Let's go."

Lori looks at Nathan. Even though they hadn't left each other's side all night, Lori feels like she hasn't seen him for years. It even looks like he has aged. In the span of thirty minutes, Nathan's gotten about ten years older.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Grace bursts into Lori's reflections. "Do you have any idea how rare this is? How few people ever get to see what you are about to see?"

"You call this a privilege?" Lori snaps her question at Grace before she even knows what she is saying. "This is…crazy! It's insane!"

Grace's mouth drops open, her face a mix of shock, confusion, anger…pride?

"This is…do you have any idea how important this is? Or what would happen if we were not here?"

"Grace," Cooper's soft tone stops her from ramping up her rant. "They don't know. Of course they don't. How could they?"

He looks between Lori and Nathan. His brow furrows and his mouth becomes a tight little line. It's an odd expression that makes Lori feel unsettled—she's not used to seeing concern directed her way.

"But you will know it soon enough."

Cooper pats Grace's good arm. "I'll close the door. You head on inside. I'm sure the doc will want to look at that shoulder—again." He picks up his gun from where he left it on the ground as he starts walking back down the hall. "See you in a minute."

Lori watches him go, then turns backs toward the blue glow of the safe room. Under the overhead lights inside she can see outlines of people engaged in small flurries of activities. Television screens. Piles of guns. And off to the left side of the room, she spots the familiar face of the store greeter, the man who attended to the seizing woman earlier…the woman that Lori now realizes was probably not actually having a seizure after all. He is standing next to an inclined bed of sorts, reviewing papers on a clipboard. On the tables next to him are pill bottles and bandages of various sizes.

The doctor looks up from his clipboard towards the door, and Lori's eyes catch his. Much to her surprise, he smiles, and offers a small nod of hello. There isn't the slightest hint of confusion in his face, but Lori's growing bewilderment more than makes up for it. He seems almost like…he was expecting to see her tonight.

His gaze shifts to Grace, and her injured arm. The smile disappears and he sighs, flipping his index finger at Grace in a gesture to come over. His irritation is visible.

Grace sighs. "You know how when you go to the dentist they always yell at you about not flossing?" Lori nods. Grace looks back at the doctor. "Yeah…" She starts to walk through the door, but Lori stops her on the threshold.

"Wait."

Grace pauses, but doesn't turn back.

"What?"

"There is one thing I gotta know."

"Yeah?"

"Why…why is the happening?"

Grace stiffens. She raises her head and looks forward into the room. Lori follows the direction of her eyes to where Ash stands at a table, watching a closed circuit security monitor and sucking down another beer.

"Because a good man made a mistake."

Grace tilts her head to the side.

"Or two mistakes. Or…three?" She shakes her head. "Mistakes were made. That's all you need to know."

With that, Grace vanishes into the room.

For the moment, Lori and Nathan are alone in the long, quiet hallway. They look at each other. Nathan arches an eyebrow.

"Man...your mom is gonna be so _pissed_."

Lori giggles, but only because she feels like crying. They both know what`s happening here. They both know it is the last day of what they used to be, and the first of…something else. This…whatever this is.

"Yeah, well…she'll live." _And so will I._

Nathan nods.

"Well…I 'spose we should…get on in there, huh?"

"Yeah, I 'spose we should."

Neither of them move.

Lori looks at Nathan. "Go."

"You go."

Lori smiles. "I went last time."

"Heh, yeah…I guess you did." Nathan smiles too and looks at the floor. He still does not move.

Lori takes his hand. He grasps her tight but doesn't look up. Step for step, she walks both of them through the door and away from everything they have ever known…away from her mother, from his parade of families…and toward a whole other side of the universe. Darker, bloodier, and way more dangerous.

And Lori is surprised to find that she is okay with it. After all, they have been fighting monsters their whole lives already. How hard can this be?

END OF PART I


End file.
